Friday, July 19

J’Accuse…! New World Ōtaki vs. Phillippa Landy: From a Friend

Thirty-two years ago today in 1992, when I was only a baby left-leaning GenXer, almost 15 whole years old, I really thought we were going to try and Free Tibet and Save the Whales and that women’s rights were ours for good. I had the t-shirt and the stickers and the hope and everything. 

To say that I’ve been disabused of my naiveté and desire to think anything even remotely resembling currently acceptable left-wing thought is a bit of an understatement. 

By the time I turn 47 tomorrow, Tibet will definitely not be free, the killer whales are now so desperate that they’re attacking ships in Norway, and I’d literally rather go to prison than vote for Labour or the Greens. 

The very word ‘woman’ is considered too ‘cisheteronormative’* for a midwife to utter, our children are being sterilised and experimented upon by eugenicists who want to see if they can turn them into the opposite sex (they can’t now and never will be able to) and freedom of speech and expression is under attack in New Zealand from authoritarian ideologues and people who seem to want to persecute their neighbours. 

One thing though, that hasn’t changed, is that I firmly believed in standing up for my friends then, and always against tyranny and injustice, however nascent, and I still do. 

The earlier the better, shouldn’t we all agree? 

Defending free speech, my friends, the incredible Landy sisters, and most especially Phillippa Landy, is my theme here today.

As much of the country has now heard, nearly 63-year old grandmother Phillippa Landy has been officially trespassed from Ōtaki New World, after a transvestite called Melody* on the Lotto counter accused her of abusing him and shouted at her because he didn’t like the slogan on her t-shirt. 

If you haven’t seen it, here it is:

My credentials for speaking on this matter are that I am a member of the same gender-critical volunteer organisation as Phillippa, i.e., Mana Wāhine Kōrero, International Ropu of Wāhine Māori and Whanaunga. 

I am the team typist and Google Docs/Office person who got involved thirty minutes after it happened when Phillippa asked if we could chat, and if I could please help format and proof-read a letter to New World Management. 

(We did that, and Phillippa duly sent a Private and Confidential letter to store manager Robert Beech-Pooley, who passed it to store owner Matt Mullins: more on this letter shortly). 

Bonus points, I’ve shopped in Ōtaki New World, been through Melody the transvestite’s checkout, and worn an MWK “Wāhine=Adult Human Female’ t-shirt in the store.

I wasn’t thrown out, but perhaps that’s because a New Zealand judge ruled that those words couldn’t rationally be described as hate speech. 

Almost nobody in the media seems to have noticed that, or care if they did, although it was quite a big deal for the women who won the case, and all of us thereafter. 

After receiving Phillippa’s letter, the owner, Matt Mullins (who was the one to push her out the door and first tell her she was banned – how long for wasn’t made clear), stayed up apparently all night and wrote her a reply letter full of really quite disturbing allegations.

I seem to be doing a lot of this lately, parsing ridiculous letters from people who are being shall we say, less than forthright?

Apparently, Phillippa has displayed an inappropriate tendency to make free with her thoughts, allegedly on occasion even commenting on them Out Loud to staff. 

Mr Mullins’ staff, presumably all huddled around the Lotto counter comforting Melody because he had seen the thoughts on her t-shirt (they all had) and they told Mr Mullins that they thought she was doing it on purpose, to provoke them. 

Into what? Limiting her food supply? 

Matt Mullins writes: “I asked you to leave the store in an attempt to de-escalate the situation”. 

One wonders why he didn’t tell his staff member to stop shouting, go and have a cup of tea, and quietly ask Phillippa if she would like to come to his office, have a seat, and tell him her side of the story first?

You know, because of the “excellent customer service” he says in his letter that they “always strive for”. 

Strive harder. Deciding to ban your customers from your shop because your staff are shouting at them for their clothes is pretty much the worst customer service I can imagine. I couldn’t make it up. 

To paraphrase his whole letter, Mr. Mullins was regretful (he’s very kind), but after banning her he simply had had no choice; safety from words and ideas is essential for his staff and they were feeling unsafe and he takes that responsibility very seriously, their safety that is. He had to report her to the Police (where a trespass order comes from) for her thoughts and her clothes. 

Unfortunately, Phillippa had (allegedly) said and worn the wrong thing just one too many times in front of his staff, and he couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t speak again, so he was afraid if she wouldn’t mind just not going to the supermarket for the next two years, they could perhaps chat about it then. All the best finding enough food elsewhere in Ōtaki, goodbye.

Here’s what Phillippa said when she approached Mr Melody:

“Please may I have a $16 triple-dip Lotto ticket for tonight’s draw?”.

How rude.

Let’s be clear about something. 

Phillippa was trespassed from New World Ōtaki because she is suspected of being a Terf. 

She is a Terf. 

I am a Terf.

Many, many, thousands of women around the world are Terfs. 

The word Terf was originally a derogatory term that some very stupid trans-rights activists and academics and some equally very eager transvestites like Mr. Melody, invented to describe a woman who believed both a) women should have rights, and b) in the indisputable fact that human beings come in two sexes: male and female – and always have done.

(Please, no more about ‘intersex’, I babysat two intersex children in my teens and they were a boy and a girl with a hereditary developmental reproductive system disorder and they were gorgeous children with a wonderful mother who protected them from surgeries and they grew into a happy man and a happy woman). 

‘Terf’ comes from the acronym for ‘Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminist’, a term which Mr Mullins and his staff now seem to take to mean that Phillippa and I might be real live witches, who could and absolutely would curse Rainbow People to death if we were allowed to speak. Just anywhere we see a Rainbow Person, we can say “Biology is real”, and they die. 

That’s what we want, according to these kinds of thinkers. 

To me and Phillippa on the other hand, ‘Terf’ means any woman of any political creed, colour, race, religion or other belief who still believes in free speech, biology and reality, and who does not believe that men can turn into women or vice versa. 

We also believe that stopping children from ever going through puberty and keeping them in stasis as immature lifelong medical patients and performing experimental surgery on their reproductive organs is evil homophobic eugenics, and we want to protect children from this as our number one priority, to the last child. 

We believe children have the right to grow up whole and make their choices as adults as we have had the freedom to do. 

Witch! Terf! Shut her up! 

I first met Phillippa in November 2022. 

Since then, she has fed me, given my son work, given me hugs, gifts, cared for me when I’ve been ill, stood up for me, offered me valuable wisdom and encouraged and trusted and believed in me, and much more besides. 

Of course I said yes when she asked me for help with her letter.

Phillippa’s main concern, from the outset, was that the process be undertaken in the proper manner, and in good faith, writing a formal letter to the owner and manager, outlining her story and making her case, allowing for his right of reply. She was quite keen to avoid a fight, because she needs her local supermarket, and she isn’t very well. 

What she wanted was her shopping privileges reinstated, and an apology for having been treated rudely. 

She hoped that once the owner, whomever that might be, had had a chance to actually listen to her side of the story, the whole thing could be quietly resolved and any news about it in the public domain could state that, and everyone could remain private, including the store. Win-win. 

She had contemporaneous notes, from straight after it happened, and for two days we went over the event and the layout of the store and the time, wording, sequence of events and characters involved, until she was happy with every comma, and thought it true and not petty or unnecessarily unkind. 

She included relevant case law, well-sourced. She included verbatim quotes, questions about store complaint policies, and was honest and forthright in her relating, including about the final moments, when she lost her own temper at the exit, after being in the following order: 

  • Mistreated rudely when she went to buy a Lotto ticket by Mr Melody, the only staff member behind the counter at the time 
  • Told it was for her “offensive T-shirt’ when she challenged this.
  • Shouted at and warned not to dare say an unspecified statement (presumably, “You are not a woman”) when she challenged that.
  • Threatened with banishment and accused of abuse.
  • Ignored, talked over, humiliated in front of a crowd, pushed out and finally banned from her local supermarket by a man half her age whom she now knows is the owner, who calls his staff member who says he’s a woman, “She”. 

To borrow a line from Ricky Gervais’s ‘Supernature’ Netflix special:

Terf: “But he was rude and shouted at me and accused me of abuse!” 

Matt Mullins: SHE was rude and shouted at you and accused you of abuse, you bigot!”

Phillippa marked her letter private and confidential, and together Di and I managed to get an email address and Matt Mullins’ name, and it was sent on Wednesday morning. 

One of the things Phillippa and I discussed at length as she wrote was the question of previous incidents. 

The reason this was so crucial to be sure about in her letter was that as she was being herded away, the man who started the whole thing was still yelling about abuse, exhorting other staff to join in the hunt – “She’s done it before, hasn’t she, Alicia*, hasn’t she?!” 

Obviously, concerned by this, I asked her whether there were any other incidents that she could recall; either where she thought that anything she had said or done could have been interpreted as abuse, or considered illegally discriminatory.

There was one thing, that in the end we decided to leave out, because we couldn’t be entirely sure whether Melody had previously been rude to her on the Lotto counter some months ago, or whether he could have genuinely not noticed her as she stood there right in front of him patiently waiting for service, before he walked out of the booth without a word and away down the store. 

At the time, she had called after him: “Hey! Am I bloody invisible or something!?”, and another staff member came along and Phillippa said “He just ignored me and walked off!”, and the new staff member curtly replied, with emphasis, “She (Mr Melody the transvestite) was busy”, so Phillippa dropped it, eyebrows raised but resigned. 

This is the only possible incident to which Melody and Mullins could have been referring, as far as Phillippa could recall or is aware of. 

She completely refuted the suggestion that she had ever singled out this man for any kind of targeted abuse, harassment or discrimination. 

She expects from him only the same standard of professionalism that she would expect from anyone, namely, that he is able to separate his personal life from his professional one and understand that his customers are entitled to freely enter his workplace without dealing with his hang-ups – even if they are wearing clothing saying words that he doesn’t like. 

He is also not permitted to deny her service on the basis of her political opinion, or censor or compel her speech at any time or in any place, with very few exceptions of which this in my opinion is not one.

On receiving Matt Mullins’ smarmy reply, on Friday Phillippa rested and talked with her family about what was best to do, because she needs to be able to go to the largest supermarket in her town, and her effort to quietly resolve the matter had not worked. 

Both letters were then given to a media-savvy friend who has an interest in curbing the excesses of the supermarket duopoly and seeing an end to this kind of corrupt abuse of anti-discrimination legislation and corporate policy. 

This friend then tweeted out the story in their own words, as a follow-on to tweets we had made alerting other gender-critical women in New Zealand. 

By Sunday, Matt Mullins’ cop-out letter and all its scurrilous accusations and blaming and shaming had been laid firmly at Phillippa’s feet on X, along with her full name, and that of her sister, on a Facebook page purporting to be keeping an eye on the Transphobes and Terfs for the public’s safety (to make sure they don’t say anything about what’s going on). 

Phillippa has been reported to the police and denounced as an abuser of a marginalised man (who says he’s a woman) by hundreds, if not thousands, of Kiwi strangers who certainly write like Salemite witch-hunters pulling aside their skirts and hissing like snakes as the latest protesting woman is dragged past and strung up. 

In trying to determine on X whether my friend is worthy of access to a quality food supply near her for the next two years, some people are now quibbling over whether they think she looks old enough to be described as elderly or frail. 

The gist of their argument is: “So what if she’s sick, she doesn’t even look old, I’m not old, she shouldn’t have been a nuisance and worn a t-shirt with a political opinion on it if she wanted equal access to food”. 

They’re saying things like:

“If she has a heart condition maybe she shouldn’t wear t-shirts that offend sections of society”,


“I wouldn’t feel comfortable around a person like that, she should keep her opinions to herself and not force them on everybody else”. 

These are the Be Kinders, clapping for any overt display of punishment like robots as usual. 

“Good on you, New World, sticking up for your staff!”. 

The real message here is, “No abuse will be tolerated, unless it is from us to you. If that happens, it will not be called abuse, it will be called safety and tolerance, so that will be fine. Everything is fine”. 

Sharpen up, everybody. Take a stand. 

Who are these unnerving and sanctimonious finger-pointers among us, who in 2024 actually seem to think that if a woman doesn’t silently live out her days in beige, trying never to offend anyone or stand up for herself, lest someone start screaming so much that she subsequently has a heart attack; that she deserves not only the heart attack but to be banned from the supermarket until she shuts up?

What kind of person wants to withhold access to the grocery shop from a sick grandmother whose clothing they “don’t feel comfortable around

Re ‘elderly’. 

Quite a few people seem to think that because the available photographs and video of Philippa don’t make her look like a 90-year old woman, that it’s dishonest to call her ‘elderly’, and that therefore she is probably lying and deserved everything she got, just like the owner said. 

Not the strongest argument to begin with, but okay, let’s talk about ‘elderly’ as it relates to wāhine Māori. 

To clarify, this wasn’t Phillippa’s word or mine, as wonderful MWK member and unstoppable advocate for Māori Corina Shields (@AuntyHeiHei) has said, but I’m prepared to stand by both the term and our mutual unnamed friend. 

As a Maori woman, Phillippa is expected to live to an average age of 77.1. As a Pakeha woman, I am expected to live to 84.4. 

What this means is that a great many Maori die very young, and it drags down the average.  

When I was carrying our first son, his father, a Ngāti Kahungunu man, while we were talking one day about the future and our families, said a little too casually, “My family don’t live very long”. 

That got my attention, and I asked, “What do you mean?”. 

He said, “Oh, you know, we just, we don’t live that long, we kind of die young, like, to our fifties and sixties is about as old as we get”. 

I tried to imagine this. I felt distressed and disturbed by why that might be, but I was certain (and determined) that this wouldn’t be him, or the people he loved, and definitely not our baby.

We had two beautiful sons together.

Then he died when he was thirty-three, when our sons were ten and eight, not long after his own mother, in her fifties. He was the first of his siblings. 

His sister died suddenly seven years later in her early forties, and his brother died when he was forty-three, the day before the first lockdown. 

This count represents a lot of totally devastated tamariki and whānau and I hope they forgive me that I have spoken about the mothers, fathers, uncles, aunties, brothers and sisters and cousins they have lost. We love and miss them, living and gone. 

These people online are implying that in our aging society, the word ‘elderly’ can only be properly applied to those who are or look old enough to qualify for a letter from the King. 

By that definition, not many wāhine Māori would *ever* be elderly, and at the current rate of change, it will be another 100 years before they even might be. 

Phillippa is no longer young. 

She is three years away from retirement now and really shouldn’t be working at all if she wants to try beat the odds and live to 110 – if anyone could it would be a Landy – but she doesn’t have an off-switch and one only needs to spend a day with her to know that trying to get her to stop working and helping people altogether would be futile. 

She has a very dodgy ticker, a disabled parking sticker and a titanium bolt holding her spine together, just for starters. She lives with constant physical pain and tiredness, very rarely mentions it, and tries to live every moment as though it’s her last, because it actually really might be and not that long ago very nearly was. 

If the beige know-it-alls on X want to play silly buggers with a single word, instead of realising how wrong the whole situation is, I hope they’re ready with a word-perfect cry for help when the Thought Police want everybody to wear Rainbow Insignia all July or be labelled an agitating troublemaker who ought to be reported to the Police. 

Speaking of NZ Police, Rex and Phillippa Landy have now both been reported maliciously to the Police and in fact one of the very first videos I saw on the MWK YouTube channel, was of Rex describing her experience with our friendly local enforcement arm of the state, popping round to her home to have a little chat about “hate speech”, and “charges”. 

She was forced in the end I believe to deal by herself with five different sergeants, before it was established that in fact, no such charge exists or is possible.

I was aghast; here was a Māori woman, being harassed by police, for saying crude words on the internet to a man who was himself threatening a mother and 12-year-old girl because they said he wasn’t a woman, and nobody was doing anything. 

The naked hypocrisy of the so-called champagne socialists, especially my Pakeha friends, sitting around shaming each other because they mispronounced ‘Otahuhu’ hit me in the face like freezing-cold water. The issues that are facing us all and that specifically affect Māori citizens in distinct ways will never be fixed like that: it’s a sham. 

Dianne Landy and I, meanwhile, as well as profoundly courageous grandmother and MWK member Linda Sutton, Albert Park head marshall, are all team members of the organising group for Kellie-Jay Keen’s visit last year. We all underwent several hours’ worth of interviews with the Independent Police Complaints Authority and we are hoping that the report will be published in the first half of this year.

We also hope it will properly reflect that the NZ Police failed in their sworn duties to keep the peace on that day, abandoning 150-odd women to the murderous loathing of a 2000-plus strong mob of properly hysterical Be Kinders, just like the ones quoted above, roiling with demented loathing and baying like animals at the women after a full week of being whipped up into an organised attack force, complete with lunatic fringe musicians bringing up the rear like a shambling Rainbow Tick brass band. Chloe Swarbrick was having picnics while another elderly woman had her eye socket broken by her Inclusive mates and Linda was putting her life on the line to go back and help still more older women until they were all out.  

Shaneel Lal, the NZ Herald’s oily, homophobic hit-piece writer whose last notable headline began “Aotearoa is Like a Salad” and prime organiser of the vicious nutters who now seemingly hate their grandmothers and aunties, was only days later awarded Young New Zealander of the Year. 

Bring back tall poppy syndrome I say; Shaneel’s gotten a bit too big for his boots. 

Rex Landy, incidentally, raised $3000 in 24 hours for that particular elderly woman who got repeatedly punched in the face, and gave it to her as a gift so she could go somewhere quiet and get some healing time, and hosted her on her YouTube channel when she felt better, so they could have a laugh and feel a bit less alone. 

As has been said many times elsewhere, women were assaulted, injured, and a long-awaited, honoured guest for Mana Wāhine Kōrero and all the gender-critical women in New Zealand had to literally flee the country. 

Phillippa, by comparison, almost got off lightly in the Brave New World*, only being herded and pushed and shouted at and told to shut up and get out by a mere two men for how abusive she and her clothes were being to the poor man-lady and his friends who didn’t feel safe. 

What really gets me is that people feel that such a silly thing as a woman getting chucked out for a shirt couldn’t really have happened, not like that. Phillippa must have done something wrong.  

What are they all watching and reading? 

Wake up, Citizens of New Zealand. It’ll be your turn next if you don’t. 

Di and I also fervently hope the IPCA report will include recommendations for the uncoupling of Rainbow Tick-style lobby groups from within policing. 

Perhaps a refresher course on women’s legal rights, not just the big loud lady-man ones, might not go amiss for the entire NZ Police force as well? 

All the wāhine of Mana Wāhine Kōrero, are my friends. 

I cannot thank equally incredible Wahine Toa and co-founder Michelle Urairau enough, a woman working against these same issues and somehow managing to find time to do it in two time-zones and for two groups, MWK and WOmens Action Group Australia, for first asking me if I would like to meet Di Landy in the first place. Kia ora Michelle. 

But I’ve got something to say about the Landy sisters in general, and about what they’re up to, because the New World debacle is now affecting all of them. 

Some nasty little ideologue was trying to figure out which sister it was almost before Phillippa had time to put her keys down at home, and Rex was immediately singled out as the most likely transphobic culprit on Facebook, being by far the most willing to say anything hilarious, crude or rude or true that isn’t as yet against the law.

I met them all the week I drove down to meet Di, in 2022. 

By the end of my stay, all three of them had welcomed me freely, graciously, and warmly into their homes – while also taking careful note of my manners, and evaluating whether I was trustworthy and useful, and whether I was for real, or full of it. 

Rex and Phillippa especially were ever so gently watching and maybe even testing me, to see their sister safe with this skinny new Pakeha friend from Auckland who showed up randomly out of nowhere to volunteer for Mana Wāhine Kōrero.

The second or third time I visited, I was sitting on the grass, it being a bit squished in the little seating area and me being quite happy plopped on the ground in the sun, and I became aware that I had stopped earnestly squeaking and was just watching and listening as these sisters wove their stories of their extraordinary lives in and out. I wasn’t sure they were really talking to me anymore; more to each other, or even time; like a record, correcting and laughing and retelling. 

I suddenly felt very fortunate to be there. These three women have championed each other, their whanau, their culture, strangers, disabled individuals and children all their lives, in one way or another. 

They continue to do so, every day, all day, at no small cost to themselves, knowing that their work will need to be taken up by the willing in the next generation. 

They have knowledge and stories that people need to hear, before it’s too late, because things are changing – for all of us – and for Te Reo Māori as a language, and if we’re not very careful as a nation, much that is now, in only thirty years will be almost all gone, or changed beyond almost all recognition, and in 100 years, when average age of death has levelled out because nearly all the Māori children were sterilised (it takes a much shorter time to do that to 17.5% of the population’s children, you see) will be living only in the hearts of the last survivors – perhaps a Landy – who will remember, and guard their secrets fiercely, and give one final interview at the end. 

Where there is insult or injury or injustice, the Landy Sisters answer it; not by manhandling people, threatening them with violence or death, or violating their civil rights, but by every legal and non-violent, citizen-led, political, satirical, direct, crude, silent, creative, grassroots means they can think of.

Phillippa Landy, the eldest, worked in the original Kaiawhina role for Plunket, then on to bringing Tamariki Ora health checks to The Pad* Mongrel Mob headquarters, to be done on site. She then implemented a car-seat scheme in Porirua, whilst employed at Maraeroa Marae, and negotiated a Memorandum of Understanding with a local garage to fit car-seat tether strap bolts into cars for free. Her job for over a decade now has been caring for a high-needs, dual-diagnosis, disabled woman who will never be able to live independently. 

Dianne Landy, middle sister, dearest friend and kindred spirit, initiated, personally funded and ran a women’s boarding house for women in recovery from addiction and she is a qualified drug and alcohol addiction counsellor, as well as certified in horticulture and who has also trained as a tailor. As most readers should know by now, she is the co-founder and New Zealand-based Rangatira of Mana Wāhine Kōrero , and to top it off she is also a chef and has worked on Marae her whole life.  

Rex Landy, the youngest, is a truly gifted wordsmith. I’d be jealous if I didn’t think she was so amazing, and she was the first of the three to know that something was very wrong with what governments and trans-activists were saying about gender. She is now one of the most well-known gender-critical women in New Zealand, if not the world. When she’s not trying to save everybody in the world’s children from extremely bad people and ideas, she has developed natural flax dyes for the gorgeous kete she weaves, and they’re the most beautiful colours you can imagine. 

These women deserve to be listened to and surely at least could be extended just a little bit of common courtesy before everybody decides they don’t deserve to eat. They have earned it. They have spoken the real truth to power, in the heart of the Beehive, not moaned and snivelled in the supermarket because someone wore words. 

Unlike Melody and his (in my opinion, brainwashed) employer, the Landy sisters, the eldest two of whom are both so unwell that they only keep going by sheer force of personality and will, have taken their arguments to the front steps for years, protested publicly, everywhere, repeatedly, under threats of death or arrest and expressions of violence. 

They have faced denunciation and rejection by almost every Governmental Minister and civil servant all the way up to then-Prime Minister Chris Hipkins, who was so frightened of the Terf-Hunter brigade that he fell apart on national television when he was asked what a woman was and told the whole country that Kellie-Jay Keen had said terrible hurtful mean things. 

Phillippa, Dianne and Rex Landy are online, on radio, and in international magazines.

They have formed organisations and online global networks of thousands of people; nearly all women. They have learned all new skills for the task, and they’ve done it all on the smell of an oily rag and the occasional donations of people who value their efforts by buying a coffee or a t-shirt they design themselves. 

These efforts culminated last year in New Zealand First including Mana Wāhine Kōrero recommendations for addressing gender ideology in our schools and sports in their coalition negotiations. 

New Zealand First and our new Deputy Prime Minister, the Right Honourable Sir Winston Peters, won that part of the negotiation and brought at least some hope of child safe-guarding and a little bit of fairness for women and girls back into our government. 

In my considered opinion as an invested mother of two young Tane Māori who very much wants them to live an awful lot longer than thirty-three, these three working-class Wāhine Māori women are vastly more worthy of the respect and dignity (not to mention income) afforded to politicians of both colours I see getting nice and rich and famous and powerful, saying meaningless words on the telly and icily adding “Ngā Mihi” to the end of every email while my sons and nephews and nieces, and thousands more just like them, quietly grieve on for the rest of their lives. 

Michael King wrote, in his celebrated book, “The Penguin History of New Zealand ”, that a vein of egalitarianism runs through the New Zealander’s national character, or at least that we like to think that this is true. 

That book was published in 2003, a far-away, almost quaint time by 2024 standards, where believing in the once-great Kiwi values of fairness, decency and self-sufficiency still felt true, and our tremendously proud history of being the first nation of people in the world to extend universal suffrage to both Pakeha and Māori women alike, didn’t now feel like the biggest “You’ve got to be kidding” ever.  

In the end, I believe, even though I am not a lawyer, that Mr. Mullins and his staff member have broken the law against refusing goods and services on the basis of a customer’s political opinion, and as a citizen, I’m here to say I don’t like the way they went about it or why they did it, and as her friend, I don’t like that they did it to Phillippa in particular and that it’s now affecting all three of my friends.   

The matter is now in an actual lawyer’s hands, and all of Phillippa’s friends and sisters and children and whanau have all got her back, and I also suspect that Mr. Mullins may find to his surprise that the majority of New Zealanders, especially women, are sick to our back teeth of being told the Emperor is wearing the most fabulous, gossamer-fine gold lamé robe imaginable, and also that when say we can’t see it, something bad happens to us. 

In this real-life story, the robe is a headband, but we can all still see Melody is not a woman, and who the abusers really are, even if we squint. 

Tell your staff to manage their personal problems in their own time, Mr. Mullins, and stop bringing them to work. The best employer of my life to date once told me off good and proper for that, and it was the kindest thing he ever did for me. 

Oh, and by the way, the father of my children who died when he was thirty-three? 

He would have kidnapped our children before he would have let me sterilise his sons, and he was also good workmates with the local transvestite who never ever once claimed to be an actual woman; who wore ordinary clothes to work and a dress and heels to the pub, and taught my sons’ father how to drive a digger and operate a quarry crusher, and my beloved friend and much-missed parenting partner through life liked and respected him because that transvestite wasn’t a whinging, bullying, fascist. 

Hands up, anyone else in New Zealand who thinks this behaviour from New World Ōtaki is wrong. 

In solidarity with Phillippa Landy and Mana Wāhine Kōrero

Sarah Henderson. 

Proud New Zealand Terf.

*Alicia & Melody (names changed for privacy) 

*’cisheteronormative’ means heterosexual person, which is to say, cruel oppressor of anything that isn’t like Pleasantville. It is gibberish and is an authoritarian code word for Suspicious Person, Dissident, etcetera – one of many.

*Brave New World, terrifyingly prescient novel by Aldous Huxley, available on film as well, and first coined here by Don Franks, Founder of the Workers Now Party, the only leftist party other than the Women’s Rights Party and conservative New Zealand First Party to build rights and protections for women and children into their policies as regards gender. 

P.S. I’ve got midwife friends too. I haven’t forgotten you. News to come. xx